


Switch With Me

by Wheezefeeds



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Bodyswap, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-09-12 08:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9064378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wheezefeeds/pseuds/Wheezefeeds
Summary: In a world where people switch consciousnesses with their soulmates, Yuuri doesn't experience his first switch until he is eighteen. He is very surprised to discover who's body he ends up in.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So... this turned out a lot longer than I'd originally planned. It'll be multiple chapters, but I have no idea how many yet. It'll also loosely follow canon, but I'll change things here or there to fit my story's timeline, along with my own whims as well c;  
> But anyways, please enjoy this slightly late holiday gift!  
> I got the idea for this au from [this fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8531512/chapters/19557457), which you should definitely go read if you're into this sort of idea.

The world was full of strange phenomenons. So many, in fact, that it wasn't really unexpected for most of them to go unexplained. It was something that the human race had come to terms with, but that didn't stop them from trying.

Scientists all over the world poured hours of time, and millions of dollars into the study of what was called 'switching'. Their results could be considered limited at best, but they pushed out whatever new information they found, making headlines and catching the attention of whoever happened to see a glimpse of the words.

See, people, even after hundreds of years of this happening, still remained fascinated with the idea of switching their consciousness with someone else's. It'd become the most romantic idea, heavily populating those sections in movie or book stores. The only stories near as popular were the heart wrenching tales of those that managed to find love without being able to switch with what had long since been known as a person's soulmate.

It was just science, apparently. People who switch with one another were statistically proven to do better in a relationship than those who didn't. Romantics had even long ago coined the occurrence as something that only happened between soulmates, so nobody was really willing to deny that switchers were meant to be together. After all, what could be better than knowing that somewhere in the world, there was someone meant just for you?

Of course, there were flaws, but every system had them. For starters, there were the language barriers. Not everyone lived in the same country as their soulmate. It was a bit difficult to handle the shock of a switch when you couldn't even understand the new place you had been thrust into.

And of course, there were age differences to consider in younger switchers. If someone who was four traded places with someone who was nine, then they would both be at a loss in their very different development levels. 

Switches were unpredictable, anyway. Of course, they often happened more than once, but there was really no set schedule to when a person would experience their first one. They could be five, or twenty five. The best reassurance that science had managed to give the general public was that ninety-eight percent of the population would have their first before reaching the age of thirty. 

Yuuri's opinion on the matter was one of wistful hope. He was young, and a bit of a closet romantic. At eighteen he still hadn't experienced his first switch, but he looked forward to the day where he knew it would eventually happen. 

It was an odd concept, yes, and he was a bit frightened that his soulmate would live somewhere with a language that he couldn't understand, but he was _excited_. He wanted to know them. To see them, even if only through their own eyes in a mirror. The thought of having someone out there that would love him for everything that he was filled Yuuri with more joy than he was willing to admit out loud.

Hopefully, that person felt just the same way, and was eagerly awaiting the day that their mind could take it's place in Yuuri's head. Would they understand English? Or would he be visiting home during the switch, where Japanese was the common language? What if his soulmate didn't understand _that_?

For all the peace the thought of soulmates managed to bring him, it brought along worries as well. Most of them were nonsensical and unimportant, he knew. After all, this was the 21st century. It wasn't that difficult to do a basic translation, with all the materials at hand that were meant to do so. 

His biggest fear though, was that the switch would occur at an inopportune moment. Yuuri was an ice skater, and spent a large majority of time at the rink. If they happened to switch while he was practicing a jump, then his soulmate would likely hit the ice hard and end up injured. Of course, he would feel the pain once their consciousnesses went back to their proper places, but he was used to the jolt of a bad fall, and the bruising aftereffects. He doubted that they would be.  

The only thing he could do though, was try to push these concerns out of his mind. After all, he couldn't slack on practice just because he was afraid of something that wasn't even guaranteed to happen. So, he jumped, and he skated, and he pushed his limits on the ice every day for his training. He practiced and studied, all with one goal in mind.

He would skate on the same ice as the already legendary Victor Nikiforov, and prove that he was worthy to be there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was in the same year, a month before his nineteenth birthday, that it finally happened. 

The sun had long since set in the sky, and Yuuri could make a guess and say that it was nearing nine o'clock, although he wasn't exactly sure. He never really payed much attention to things like that when it came to his time on the ice. He'd been skating almost all afternoon, and while his actual practice was definitely over, he'd spent extra time making lazy laps around the rink, simply thinking.

The Grand Prix competitions were going to be in progress soon, and Yuuri didn't like being left staring at a screen to see them. He wanted to _be_ there. On top of his studies for class, which tended to stress him out, he just wanted to have a few simple hours on the ice to do what he liked best. 

Skate. With no interruptions, and with nobody watching. They way he'd done back home in Japan on nights when his mind was clouded with worries and he'd just wanted to be alone.

His lazy laps around the rink varied in speed, and occasionally he'd jump, but he'd keep them singles. It ruined the point of relaxing if he began doing triples, after all. He was in the middle of a step sequence when the twinges of pain at his forehead began. Was he getting a headache?

He slowed, skates scraping gently across the ice, and reached one hand up when the sensation began to feel like he was _burning_. When faced with blinding pain, admittedly, his first thought wasn't that he was switching. Instead, he became afraid, and dropped to his knees with a gasp when the burning flared white hot.

And suddenly, he was flat on his back, blinking open his eyes and staring at, but not really seeing the ceiling above him.  The pain in his forehead hadn't really diminished, although the burning had thankfully disappeared. He was laying down, but the floor felt far too soft to be the ice he'd been skating on. How had he managed to find his way out of the rink? 

Slowly, he blinked, and finally began to bring himself up to a sitting position. However, upon looking around, he realized that something was very wrong.

For starters, he wasn't at his rink in Detroit. He was in a bedroom, laying against the sheets, and the top covers had been kicked away rather roughly, as they were now resting partially on the floor. This wasn't any room that he recognized. 

His eyes widened when his mind finally caught up to what had happened. He'd switched. Suddenly far too curious, he swung his legs to the side and stood on the floor, a bit surprised to find that it was cold. Ah, he wasn't wearing any shoes. 

In fact, upon further inspection, he came to the conclusion that he wasn't wearing much of anything. Just some boxers, which were hanging incredibly low on his hips. Simply due to self consciousness and habit, he pulled them up.  

But, this wasn't his body, was it? The skin was a bit paler than his own, and his soulmate seemed to have _much_ better muscle definition than Yuuri's own form did. This man seemed to be gifted with a body that toned well, because it was all sharp edges and hard abs. They looked good, and suddenly Yuuri felt bad that whoever this was had to spend time in his body, which always stayed a little soft at the sides, no matter how much effort he put into his training.

He took a step forward, and oh, he was taller too, even if only by a little bit. His balance seemed a bit off, and if he payed attention enough, everything around him seemed lower than it should. He took a few more steps, getting accustomed to the change, before finally taking the opportunity to observe as much as he could about his surroundings. That's what these switches were supposed to be used for, after all. Finding something that could lead you to your soulmate once you made it back to your own body.

He spotted an alarm clock resting across the room from the bed, and noted that it read 5:00 AM. Ah, so his soulmate didn't live in America, then. He tried to narrow down the location with his knowledge of the time zones, but didn't get too far. At the very least, he knew that this man didn't live in Japan, either. Somewhere in the middle, then.

The room was very minimalist, lacking clutter. Any other time, Yuuri might have appreciated that, but now it meant that he didn't have many things to go off of to figure his soulmate out. He'd have to dig if he wanted to find any specific information, and he didn't exactly feel good about looking through someone's private things. 

Oh well, he'd go with the next easiest thing to do. A door was on the other end of the room, cracked open slightly, and Yuuri could see, even through the dim light, that it lead to a bathroom. There would be a mirror in there. He could simply go and see what his soulmate's face looked like. The body already seemed pretty appealing, so he couldn't really imagine how the rest of him would be. 

He moved forward, still noticing the sudden change in height, but able to overcome it and not stumble, and stopped at the door with one hand on the handle. He was feeling nervous now. He'd dreamed of what this moment would be like for so long, and now that it was finally here, he was becoming a bit overwhelmed. What would his soulmate be like? What were they doing, over in America in his own body? Did they like it? Yuuri certainly liked this one, but he didn't think that his own was nearly as impressive. Surely, switching from one to the other would be a bit disappointing for his soulmate.

He sighed, trying to push the negative thoughts away. This was a happy moment. He'd finally switched, after eighteen - almost nineteen - years, and he wasn't going to let a bad mood dampen his excitement. 

He pushed open the bathroom door, taking slow, small steps inside. In a sudden rush of nervousness, he closed his eyes before blindly hitting the switch on the adjacent wall. He didn't know what sort of person would be looking back at him once he opened them again, and he swallowed dryly, trying to brush away his nerves. Eventually, he managed to convince himself that there was nothing to be worried about, and slowly peeked out from underneath his eyelashes.

He shouldn't have listened to himself. Yuuri was pretty sure he was going to collapse, and he threw out his hands to grip the counter in order to prevent it. He took a steadying breath, looking up at the mirror again, disbelief written across a face that didn't belong to him. 

It was a face that, in fact, belonged to the one and only Victor Nikiforov.

But, that couldn't be right, could it? Yuuri couldn't be _his_ soulmate. The thought of such a thing being true made him think that he was experiencing some sort of intense lucid dream. The idea of switching with Victor was the fantasy of a younger teenager who'd spent what was probably far too much time thinking about his idol. It being true was simply unbelievable. 

But, as he stared at his reflection, unable to look away, he couldn't come to any other conclusion. He'd pinched himself to see if he was asleep, but the sharp pain told him otherwise. Then, this was truly reality.  

He muttered out words of surprise in Japanese, but they felt uncomfortably foreign coming off of a tongue that wasn't used to them, and it felt even stranger hearing them in Victor's voice.  

No Japanese, then. English was good. He could speak in his second language, seeing as he didn't know Russian. He tested out a simple phrase, and it felt much more natural to say in English, although it was still strange hearing Victor's voice when he spoke. 

He brought himself back to a proper standing position, gently releasing his hands from the tight grip that they'd been holding on the lip of the counter. He frowned slightly when he realized he'd been holding on tight enough to turn his - Victor's - knuckles white. 

Still unable to believe that this was really happening, he slowly reached up to touch his face, watching as his reflection in the mirror did the same. Victor's mouth and eyes wore an expression that perfectly showed Yuuri's emotions, but it felt odd to see that look on him. He was used to the concentration that the man wore while skating, or the easy smile he used when talking to fans and the press. Not something like this. He tried to force a better expression, but eventually gave up when he realized that doing so was only making it worse.

Victor's hair was short, although it looked as though it had gone without a cut for a little too long. Was he planning on growing it out again, or had he just been too busy to bother with it? Yuuri rubbed one of the strands that hung over his eye between his fingers, staring into the bright blue eyes that were watching him from the mirror. They were definitely prettier in real life than in any poster, and he was struck with the sudden desire to look at them properly, back in his own body.

Sighing, he released the strand and rubbed his hand down across his face. So Victor was his soulmate, and as much as his mind was insisting that he keep denying that, Yuuri decided that it was probably for the best that he listen to reason. He'd switched, and there was only one person in the world that you were ever going to switch with. And the fact that he wasn't dreaming right now only lead to one possible conclusion; that this was real. 

A small feeling of giddy happiness began to grow in Yuuri's gut, and he couldn't stop the tiny grin from rising on his lips. Oh, Victor looked good with _that_ expression. 

His soulmate was Victor Nikiforov. The man he'd idolized for years now. The man that would be competing in the Grand Prix soon, and who would surely win. The very same man who Yuuri wanted nothing more than to compete against as equals. How did he manage to get that lucky?

With a deep breath, he finally tore his gaze away from the reflection before him, and turned to leave the bathroom. He didn't know how long this switch would last, and Yuuri didn't exactly need to spend it all looking into a mirror. After all, he was already familiar enough with how Victor looked.

The bedroom he returned to was now his top priority. He wasn't going to search it, because that would be far too invasive for Yuuri to even consider, no matter how curious he might be about the man's personal life. But if he could manage to find something just laying out in the open - a pen and paper, or a phone - then he could write down a note for Victor to find later once they'd each returned to their own bodies. 

Unfortunately, his search was brought to a halt before it began by the sound of something on his left, next to the bed, thumping to the ground. "What?" he managed to ask before something large, warm, and rather fluffy was rubbing up against his bare legs. It took Yuuri a few moments to realize exactly what was pressing against his calves, but once he did, a small smile graced his features.

"Makkachin," he greeted happily, leaning down to run one hand over the poodle's back. He reminded Yuuri of his own dog at home, named after this one's owner. The thought made him chuckle a bit nervously as the dog still begged for attention, obviously oblivious to the fact that he wasn't actually Victor. 

He took to petting Makkachin for a few moments until he was content and finally padded away to jump back up onto the bed, curling up on the sheets next to the spot where Yuuri had first found himself laying. The man chuckled lightly as he watched, wondering to himself if the pet and owner shared any personality traits. 

With a dog no longer vying to trip up his feet, Yuuri was free to move about the room and house in search of _something_ to write on. It would feel odd, as if he didn't appreciate the switch, if he were here without leaving some sort of sign of his presence. 

Unfortunately, there seemed to be nothing that would be of use in the bedroom. Victor's phone was laying on a nightstand, charging, but there was a passcode lock, and Yuuri didn't know it. Not feeling too keen on trying to guess his way in, he decided to take his search elsewhere. 

The bedroom door was open, and it lead into a hallway, which Yuuri decided to follow. It opened up into what appeared to be the living room, which then branched off the side into a small kitchen. It was really rather nice, and he found himself stopping, simply looking around before moving forwards.

The area was well lit with windows that had the curtains still thrown open, and through them Yuuri could see snow falling quickly. He was reminded by how harsh the cold weather was in Russia, and a chill went over the skin he'd forgotten was uncovered. He crossed his arms over his chest as he walked forward, absentmindedly running his hands over his chilly skin.

A large TV sat across from a cozy looking couch, and Yuuri ran one hand over the fabric as he went past. The low coffee table seemed to hold what he was looking for. Rounding the couch and sitting down lightly on the edge of the cushion, he looked over the items resting on top. There was a laptop, but it was closed, and he doubted he'd be able to get into it anyway, if the phone was to be gone by. 

Next to the laptop were papers and pens, a sight which brought a grin out of Yuuri. _Perfect_. He picked up a piece off the top of the short stack, looking curiously at the few scribbles that were etched onto it. The words were in Russian, and far beyond his understanding, but the few doodles of a poodle, and of ice skates made him chuckle lightly. The words looked like they were making a list, so perhaps it was a routine the man had been planning? 

Setting that one down on the other side of the table, Yuuri grabbed a blank one that had been underneath it, and took one of the pens. He tapped it against the table in thought, unsure of what he should write.

He supposed that most people would write down their name and location so that they'd be easy to find after the switch, but that felt bland and unoriginal. He was already such a large fan of Victor's and he could guess that the man was probably used to that sort of fanatic treatment. He wanted to be... memorable. Not just a random name and address. 

But then, what exactly could he say? 

He put the pen tip to the paper, simply holding it there, even as the ink formed a dark spot. He supposed that it would probably be best to start with a greeting.

'Hello, Victor,' he wrote, making sure to use English. Then, below that he continued, 'I was surprised when I ended up switching with you. I've been a fan of yours since I was young. You inspired to me be a better skater.'

Well, that was a little bit sappy, but it was true. Upon seeing Victor's performance for the first time when he was a kid, Yuuri had put even more effort into his skating. Even now, his goal was to become worthy to skate against the man. 

He skipped a line again before frowning slightly and writing 'Although, I suppose that might not be the first thing you want to hear from your soulmate since you probably hear stuff like that all the time, so instead I'll say that your apartment's nice, even thought the floor is cold. Waking up almost naked in Russia during winter isn't really pleasant, you know." Even being used to snow and colder climates, this was something else entirely. 

At a loss for how to phrase his thoughts, or even end his little letter, he wrote a simple 'Makkachin's really nice,' for a conclusion before moving below and starting the closing. 

He paused again though, because how was he going to close this? Sincerely was a bit too formal for a letter to one's soulmate, but ending with 'love' seemed like a little much. When he spent too long with his pen against the paper again, Yuuri just gave up and decided to skip it. He was probably overthinking it. His name would be enough.

A sudden, sharp twinge of pain in his forehead made him startle, the pen dropping from between his fingertips and rolling across the table before clattering lightly to the floor. He gasped in surprise, rising quickly to his feet in an attempt to reach for it, before deciding that doing so had been a bad idea.

He collapsed backwards onto the couch again as his head spun, because if he didn't, he'd surely injure Victor's body somehow by falling down. His only clear thought through the painful sensation was that he hadn't finished the letter. He hadn't gotten a chance to sign his name.

But then, everything fell from underneath him as he lost consciousness, and woke up again on the ground, sitting with his back against a wall. At least Victor had recognized the feeling as well, and left his body somewhere safe.

He sighed, his head lolling downwards as he berated himself for not being able to complete the simple task of finishing a short letter. While it probably wouldn't be impossible for Victor to have figured out his name somehow while here, there was no guarantee that he'd managed to.

He clenched his fists in frustration, but furrowed his brows in confusion when doing so crinkled something that was held in one of them. Opening his hand, Yuuri's expression changed to one of surprise when he realized that it was a piece of paper. Hurriedly, he unraveled it, making sure to not rip it in his haste, and read the scrawl that was written across the page.

'Yuuri,' it began, and that one word made him smile wide. 'That is your name, right? You had a message on your phone that said so, but I couldn't unlock it. Don't worry, I didn't really try to, anyway.' The sentence was accompanied by a winking smiley face.

'Honestly, I was a bit surprised to find myself in a skating rink, out on the ice. Were you practicing? It's pretty late for that.' Yuuri knew that. He couldn't really help it though. Skating away his worries was a habit he'd carried from Japan to Detroit. 

'Now I'm curious about how good you are. I skate too, you know.' Another winking face. Oh, he knew that very well. 'Maybe when we meet, you'll show me?' The letter ended there with a signature that Yuuri recognized, even without looking closely enough to read it properly.  He smiled fondly at it, smoothing out the wrinkles of the paper before carefully folding it up for safekeeping. 

He was thankful that although he hadn't been able to sign his own paper, the man had been able to figure out his name, even if only his given one. It was certainly better than nothing.

He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. His head was still aching, but that was nothing compared to the feeling of his heart thumping loudly in his chest. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Yuuri when he was younger is hard...  
> Anyway, this is a filler sort of chapter but I think looking into his thoughts is a bit important.  
> Please enjoy <3

Yuuri didn't know how long he sat there for, but the sound of buzzing a few feet away from him finally drew his attention. He slowly brought himself to his feet, only just now realizing that his headache from the switch had faded away.

He wasn't exactly sure what Victor had done while in his body, but his skates had their guards in place, and he was wearing the jacket he'd thrown on one of the benches that was sitting against the wall. Obviously the man hadn't taken the time to skate, and had instead wandered around off the rink. The thought that something had happened without his knowledge was a bit unnerving, but Yuuri pushed any ideas of that nature away. Victor probably felt a lot more awkward about the situation, considering that someone had been in his _house_.

His phone had been the source of the mysterious buzzing, and it was still laying on the bench where the rest of his belongings had been left, so Yuuri walked over and scooped it up. 

Unsurprisingly, the younger skater, and his close friend, Phichit, had sent him several messages. Looking at the time on the phone, he realized that it was nearing 10:30. He was at the rink _late_. Way later than he ever tended to be without writing to anyone so that they knew where he was. Phichit knew of his after hours skating habits, and liked to make sure he got home safe at night.

The messages started off simply enough. 'Yuuri, are you still at the rink?' had been sent a little after nine, and the man suspected that it was the message Victor had gotten his name from. He'd been around to hear the notification, after all. 

Around 9:30, they'd gotten a bit more worried in tone, and Yuuri felt a little guilty. If he was skating into the night, he tried to make sure that his friend at least knew he wasn't going to be returning home until later. While it obviously wasn't his fault that he'd switched, he knew Phichit was concerned that he hadn't responded to any messages.

'You normally answer by now, are you alright?'

'Yuuri, its 10, where are you? Are you at the rink?'

'Yuuuuri'

'Yuuri'

That was the most recent message, and he hurried to unlock his phone and send a response. He was quick with his typing, because he didn't want the other to have to send any more concerned messages.

'Ah I'm sorry,' he wrote, sending it immediately so that his friend would know he'd received the texts. 'I was.... unable to write for a while.'

The response he received was instantaneous. 'Call?' And of course, he obliged almost immediately, leaning against the rink barrier as he did so.

It was unsurprising when Phichit picked up on the first ring. "Yuuri! Are you at the rink?" he asked, without even waiting for a hello.

"Ah, yes, I am. I'm sorry, Phichit, I made you worry, right?" he fiddled with the hem of his jacket as he spoke, even though there was nobody there to see him. He still couldn't help but to fall back on little nervous actions, even though he knew that his friend would understand once he heard the reason why Yuuri had left him hanging. 

"You did. I just didn't know where you were, and it's getting late. Are you alright?"

"Oh, yes, I'm fine," he said, and paused for a moment before continuing. "Actually, maybe more than fine? I, uh, I switched."

"Switched?" was the immediate, almost gleeful response. "With your soulmate?"

"Yes. I was skating and then, well, and then I wasn't." That wasn't exactly true. He neglected to tell how he'd experienced the searing pain beforehand, but Phichit hadn't experienced a switch yet, and he didn't want the first thing he told his friend about it to be the pain. Later, when Yuuri was sure that they'd talk about this in more detail, he'd better explain that particular part of it. For now, he didn't deem it important enough.

The boy on the other end of the line cooed. "Really? So who is it? What did you find out about them?"

The question made Yuuri pause again, and the silence was slowly filled by a nervous chuckle. "I don't think you will believe me if I tell you."

"What? Yuuri, why? Of course I would believe you!" Phichit was insistent, and in fact sounded a little put out at the idea that he would be doubted. 

"It's just difficult to believe. I don't think I believe it yet," he continued, still not revealing who his soulmate was, which made his friend whine with impatience. 

"Just tell me who it is! I'm too curious!"

Yuuri murmured out the name so quietly that he was asked to repeat himself, and when he finally did, the admission was met with silence. "Phichit?" he asked nervously, unsure of what his friend's reaction would be, and feeling uneasy at the quiet he was facing.

Finally, and rather loudly, his ear was assaulted by a shout of " _The_ Victor Nikiforov?" He was pretty sure that his friend was going to wake the neighbors by being so loud about it, so he made a shushing noise.

"Yes, the real, actual, Victor Nikiforov. I was in his house, Phichit." And maybe as he spoke he was allowing some of the giddiness to seep into his tone, but his friend knew how much of a fan he was. Surely it wasn't too much of a problem now. 

"His house? What was it like?" 

Yuuri hummed in thought, trying to remember all of the details. If he were to be honest though, his time in Victor's body wasn't something he was likely to forget a second of. "Well, I noticed it when I first got there, but it was a little bit bare. There were books and things, and Makkachin was there, but otherwise it seemed just... really _clean_." He stopped talking before a sudden thought came to his mind, and he shook his head, even without anyone there to see it. "I didn't go snooping, though!" he insisted. "I didn't want to go looking through his things. That felt wrong. I mean, I was already in his body..."

"What do you think he did while he was here?" Phichit questioned suddenly, and the words made him blanch, despite the fact that he'd come to the conclusion that Victor had it worse in this situation.

"Well, I don't know. He didn't skate. I was against a wall with my guards on when I woke up here again. He said he couldn't get into my phone and that he didn't try either," Yuuri sighed. "Maybe he just looked around?"

"Do you think he was looking for a mirror or something? Nobody else is there, right? He must have been alone," Phichit suggested.

"Yes, I'm alone. There's mirrors in the bathroom, do you think he found those?"

"I'm sure he knows his way around a rink, Yuuri," the boy pointed out with a joyful chuckle. "And besides, I doubt much would stop him from finding out what his soulmate looks like."

Yuuri couldn't deny that what his friend said was true. Victor had never tried to hide the fact that he was eager to meet the one destined to be his. Of course, he had his fans, and he entertained them fabulously. Whether he followed the somewhat old-fashioned notion of 'saving oneself' for their soulmate, nobody really knew. Victor wasn't very forthcoming about what he did or did not do in the bedroom. he came off as a flirtatious playboy, but that could easily be just an act.

Yuuri wasn't sure if he wanted it to be or not.

On one hand, he couldn't necessarily stop the spike of jealousy in the pit of his stomach at the thought of his soulmate sleeping with someone else. He knew that it didn't matter, that he had no right to control someone like that, but that didn't mean the feeling wasn't there.

However, the rest of him wasn't sure what he would do if the Victor Nikiforov he'd grown up idolizing turned out to be so _fake_. Yuuri was sure that he couldn't be one hundred percent honest around fans, but to learn that everything you thought you knew was a lie seemed like it would still be unsettling. 

Instead of voicing his turmoil to Phichit though, he simply sighed in resignation. "Yeah, You're right. I'm sure he could find a mirror if he wanted to. He didn't really say anything about what I looked like in his note, though," he murmured.

"What _did_ the note say?" Phichit asked in a voice that sounded way too curious.

Yuuri's voice was quiet as he spoke. "He said it was a little late to be practicing, but that he wants to see me skate when we meet." 

The boy on the other end of the line whistled. "You're on your way to a hot skating date with Victor Nikiforov," he teased.

Yuuri snorted in a quick burst of laughter. "I don't think that's going to happen anytime soon."

"You never know, Yuuri."

"I think Victor's too busy to focus on meeting me right now," he said quietly, once again shaking his head in the negative as he spoke.

"Well, he does have the Grand Prix coming up, but he might try to find you afterwards."

"Or, he might have no idea who I am," Yuuri insisted. "He knows that I skate, and might know what I look like, but he doesn't even know my full name. There's no way he could find me, even if he wanted to."

Unsurprisingly, his friend shushed his deprecating train of thought. "It's not something you need to worry about now. Focus on skating, and meet him on the ice."

That idea made the man grin. "You're right, Phichit," he agreed. He knew he'd become the boy's friend for a reason. He always spoke reasonably when Yuuri got too worried.

"Of course I am," he said with a laugh. "Now, it's getting late. You have class in the morning, so maybe head home? You just switched, so you must be tired." There was a loving, concerned tone to Phichit's voice that always made Yuuri realize just how much his friend cared for his well-being.

"Yeah, I am tired. Okay, I'll pack up and leave in a few minutes."

"Great. Have a good night, Yuuri."

"You too, Phichit. Thank you," he replied before ending the call. He'd been right. Yuuri had already vowed that he'd meet Victor on the ice as equals. That was what he needed to focus on right now, regardless of who his soulmate was. 

He would show off his skating, and he'd stand on the Grand Prix podium with a medal in hand when he introduced himself as Victor's soulmate.

That was Yuuri's goal, and he was more determined than ever to reach it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Unsurprisingly, Victor dominated every competition he took part in. It was no surprise to see him with gold in hand. In fact, the most disappointed his fans ever seemed to be was when he was holding bronze or silver instead. 

Yuuri found himself feeling a bit overwhelmed. And, in fact, he was becoming grateful that Victor hadn't made much of an effort to contact him yet. He could understand it anyway. He was a busy adult, and his soulmate was an even busier one; famous on the international level. The simplest, bluntest was to put it was that they didn't have the time for one another. And while Yuuri might sometimes want to be bothered by that, he tried his best to focus on other things. 

Practice was grueling, and while it was everything that he was used to, and nothing that he didn't expect while training for a chance at the Grand Prix, it made him _tired_. And, unfortunately, he was also a college student in an American school. His English was fine, but it took more of his focus to absorb all the information than it would if things were written in his first language. Everyday he went to sleep late and woke up early. It was nothing short of draining.

But he endured it, if only to see the future he'd planned out for himself, and to ignore that fact that he hasn't met his soulmate in person yet. He worked hard for the chance to stand on that podium, and now he had the extra motivation of knowing exactly who his soulmate was. If he couldn't do this now, he'd never be confident enough to show Victor his skating.

That said man, however, was doing plenty well for himself. He'd won the Grand Prix, and made quite the spectacle of it all; kissing the gold medal, which was a habit he'd seemed to develop. Yuuri didn't think he'd ever be the type of person to do such a thing, but it was so incredibly _Victor_ that he couldn't stop the smile from forming on his lips whenever he was reminded of it.

"Yuuri! Back on the ice," Celestino called out, effectively interrupting his train of thought, and he stood from his position on the bench, stretching now that his short break was over. 

He had no delusions about where he was with his current skill level. He _wasn't_ good enough yet. So, even though his feet ached and he was in a perpetual state of exhaustion, he gladly and thankfully attended practice. Besides, it was a sport that he thoroughly enjoyed. It would all be well worth it in the end.

"Today I want to work on your jumps. Your free leg is sloppy after your landings," his coach said, and Yuuri nodded along. His jumps were never the best part of his routines, and he normally put extra focus onto his presentation aspects in order to score well, despite the bad technical elements. 

However, Celestino was determined to fix that, as any normal coach would be. It seemed that they were always working on jumps. Yuuri didn't mind too much. He always found free time to make sure that his step sequences didn't lax. 

So, he jumped and jumped and fell on the ice until it seemed that his hips were a permanent mottled hue of purples and yellows. And then, when everyone else had left, he made lazy circles around the rink until he was exhausted enough to go back home. 

Often he would be told that all his extra effort was doing him more harm than good; that he would eventually burn out and damage his body beyond repair. Yuuri didn't pay the concerns too much mind, though. He was in good enough condition, and never jumped when he felt he would be too tired to land it. Besides, he regularly visited a sports therapist, who made sure he remained well enough to skate competitively. 

Outside of the competitive field, skating was what kept him calm anyway. When he was stressed, he fell back to the rink, even if it might have been the source of his worries in the first place. It was a habit he doubted he'd ever been able to drop. 

He always seemed to be lead to the ice, even when it left him battered and tired. 

His pain was well worth it when, at twenty-two years old, he finally got his chance. He qualified into the lineup of Grand Prix hopefuls. 

And, unsurprisingly, Victor did too. 

His time had come. He was ready for this. He'd been living away from home in Detroit for years, practically spending every minute on the ice. And now, he'd do just as Victor had asked him four years ago. What his _soulmate_ had asked him. 

Yuuri would show him his skating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh I just had to include Phichit, even though he's pretty young here c:


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been leaving comments and kudos! They mean a lot to me! <3  
> (I may go back tomorrow and edit this chapter for any grammatical errors I may have missed in my initial proofread, but if you see any, feel free to let me know c: )

Yuuri had long since gotten used to the fact that he would always be nervous before a competition. He'd suffered through his anxiety long enough to understand how to push it away as he skated, even if it was one of the more difficult things he'd ever had to do.

Today was no different, and in fact, he was more stressed out than he'd ever been before. He'd skated his short program yesterday, and today would be the free. 

This was the one performance that meant the most out of everything he'd done so far. His score here determined whether or not he would medal at the Grand Prix Finals, and Yuuri was pretty sure that he was going to pass out where he stood if he thought about it for too long. 

He still had a few hours to go before competition for the day actually began; he hadn't even been on the ice for practice and warm ups yet. But, he still shuffled around, clutching his sports bag nervously.

Celestino wasn't too far off, leaning against the wall looking over something on his phone. Most likely, it was the news about yesterday's programs and the viewers' opinions on them. Fortunately, he wasn't likely to tell Yuuri anything he saw for fear of making the man more anxious.

While he knew the reasoning, and didn't necessarily like being treated like glass, he couldn't deny that it was still helpful, and was therefore thankful. 

A vibration in his pocket grabbed his attention, and he scrambled to reach for his own phone. He was hoping that maybe Phichit was calling to talk, and perhaps help him remember his excitement, because it was currently a bit buried by everything negative piling over top of it.

He furrowed his brows after a glance at the caller ID. His mother? His parents didn't make a habit of calling him before competitions. As much as they loved and supported him in the sport, they were also a little clueless about it, and often forgetful as well. They surely didn't remember to wish him luck before his skate today.

Confused, he walked over to a relatively private area before taking the call, and leaned against the wall as he answered with a tentative "hello?" 

"Oh, Yuuri," his mother replied immediately in a rushed tone, which did nothing positive for his nerves. "I'm so glad you picked up!"

"Is something wrong?"

"Honey, I'm so sorry, but Vicchan," she said, cutting off for a moment and taking a small breath. It shuddered, and that made Yuuri's own breathing catch.

"Did something happen?" he murmured, but he felt as though he already knew the answer. Was he still standing? He was pretty sure he felt the wall slide against his back before he hit the ground, but he couldn't be positive.

"He just passed away, Dear." And then, Yuuri's world seemed to fall away.

He could still hear his mother talking through the phone about how she was sorry, and that she knew he would have preferred to be there, but he couldn't seem to focus on her words properly. 

Everything had already been weighing on his shoulders so heavily, that this just seemed to be the last burden, and he couldn't carry it. His head fell forwards, as though he'd suddenly lost the energy to hold it upwards, and his vision blurred as tears welled up, unbidden. 

"Yuuri? Yuuri? Are you still there?" his mother's voice asked, her tone gentle, as though she was afraid he would break if she spoke too harshly. Perhaps that was true. Yuuri certainly felt as though he was tearing at the seams.

He took a deep breath, but it shook far too much to be helpful. "Yes. Yes, I'm here," he replied after a few moments, his voice cracking. 

His mother apologized again, but he shook his head. It took him a few seconds to realize that doing so didn't actually convey anything to her.

"No, no," he began, taking another breath. "It's alright, it's not your fault," he said, trying to reassure her. He just wanted the apologies to stop. He wanted this conversation to _stop_. 

And now, more than anything, he wanted to go home and curl up under his bed covers. He'd loved his dog. But Vicchan was gone now, and Yuuri hadn't seen him in years. He hadn't even gotten the chance to say _goodbye_.  He'd been so focused on skating and college that he hadn't gone back home for one single visit. 

He didn't even have anything to show for it yet. He'd made it to the Grand Prix, but that meant nothing if he didn't actually medal. And honestly, what guarantee was there that he would even be able to manage that?

"Yuuri, will you be alright?"

"Huh?" he muttered, lost in his own thoughts enough to have not heard the words clearly at first. "Oh, yes, I'll be okay." That was a lie, but he wasn't going to make his mother worry, when she was surely already dealing with enough. She'd cared about Vicchan as well, after all. 

"Please try to not worry too much. He was a very happy dog, you know."

The tears broke loose then, and his breath caught in his throat so that he didn't outright sob. "Of course he was," he murmured.

"Will you call us later?"

"I will," Yuuri assured her through his quiet voice, his chest seizing up around the effort of trying to make himself sound normal. He knew that his mother would understand him being upset, but he couldn't forget where he was right now. What he was trying to do. He couldn't cry in the middle of the hallway.

"I have to go now, but I'll call you later, okay?" he said, rushing to end the conversation without even really waiting for her to give a reply. 

Quickly, he rose to his feet, and shaking hands slipped his phone back into his pocket. Celestino was still where Yuuri had left him, so he turned on his heels and sneaked off to the nearest place where he could be alone.

That place just so happened to be a bathroom, and it was thankfully empty when he arrived. 

He leaned heavily on the counter, and looked up at himself through the mirror. His eyes were red, and there were small tear tracks running lightly down his cheeks.

He rubbed them away furiously with his hands, frowning. The sadness and loss were settling deep in his gut like a crushing weight, throwing his emotions out of equilibrium. He'd been barely containing his nerves before, but now they were bursting forth, accompanied by a new frustration that seemed to want to overtake him. 

Yuuri knew that he could skate. In fact, he knew that he could skate well. But, what did that matter if he couldn't _perform_ well? It was people like Victor Nikiforov, or Christophe Giacometti who could please the crowd with one glance. How could he stand up to them now, with red rimmed eyes, and what seemed like barely enough energy to stand properly?

What good was he to Victor as a soulmate now? 

He clenched his fists, shaking his head in some sort of attempt to clear the thoughts away from his mind. He was just upset. He was a good skater.

He could win the Grand Prix. 

He could prove himself to his soulmate.

Yuuri took deep breaths, trying to relax. The news of Vicchan had come at an inopportune time, and he was _devastated_ , but he couldn't focus on that right now. He needed to think about something else, if he had any chance of winning. And he _needed_ to win. 

"Think about your routine," he muttered to himself, slowly beginning the process of thinking through each step and jump he would be taking on the ice once he began his free skate later that night.

He went through the nuances of each movement, the way he'd turn his body or hold his arms, and the music that would be accompanying him at that exact moment. It wasn't exactly the most entertaining activity, but it kept his mind on something familiar and important. 

He stood there, alone in front of the mirror, until the door swung open and Celestino walked in. "Yuuri! There you are. I was looking for you! Are you alright?"

The redness had reduced, but was still noticeable if you were looking for it. Hopefully, his coach wasn't, so he responded with a nod, and another lie. "Yes, I'm alright."

"Skaters are allowed out on the ice now, so we should at least go get a look at the others before you go out there too."

Yuuri nodded, even though he was pretty sure that was one of the last things he wanted to do. Seeing the others skate didn't do much to help his nerves, especially if they nailed their jumps, which many of them were likely to do. "Okay." he said quietly, and stiffly followed the man out into the hallway again.

The halls were no less crowded than before, but at least the people in them were content to mind their own business for now, so nobody attempted to talk with him.

Stepping out before the rink and all of the stands caused Yuuri to intake a sharp breath, but he pushed the nerves down again with pure force. He wasn't even competing yet.

He could see the other skaters scattered around, talking to their coaches. There was only one person on the ice right now, and he instantly drew Yuuri's attention away from everyone else. 

Victor was always stunning when he skated. Even if he was just practicing - making random loops and doing jumps in no particular sequence - he still somehow managed to make it look like a routine. It told a story, even if it wasn't always one Yuuri could grasp, he knew it was there. 

He watched with fascination until the spell was broken by sharp Russian words from the sidelines. They made Victor pause, and then glide over to where his coach was standing. They were exchanging words, but were far out of Yuuri's own hearing range. Not that he'd be able to understand them, anyway.

"Yuuri, get ready to go out there, okay?" 

He turned to his own coach, nodding slightly before lugging himself over to a bench. He hadn't changed into his skates yet, so he focused on doing so. Watching Victor skate had been a momentary distraction, but now he longed for something else to occupy his mind with. 

"Make sure you practice your jumps a little, alright? Get yourself warmed up and in the right mindset. Find your focus."

"Okay," he agreed simply, not up to saying much else. His laces were tied tightly, and he wiggled his feet to make sure the shoes were snug. Satisfied, he brought himself up to stand. Celestino held one hand out for his guards once he reached the ice. Yuuri handed them over before taking a deep breath, and glided forwards on the thin blades.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yuuri was used to being nervous right before stepping onto the ice for his competitions. He'd learned how to deal with that. 

This feeling was new. His stomach clenched, and he felt as though he was always two seconds off from crying. Vicchan was a constant thought at the back of his mind, and he was running out of things to distract himself with. 

Normally, thinking of impressing Victor helped calm him. He took comfort in the fact that he knew what he was doing, and that the man had said himself that he wanted to see Yuuri skate. 

He could do this.

Except, with shaking legs, and a number of stumbles at practice, his already low confidence was quickly beginning to die out. 

A hand fell lightly on his shoulder, and Yuuri jumped in surprise. 

"Don't be nervous, okay? You made it all the way here," Celestino said quietly, offering words of encouragement as he ushered his skater forwards towards the ice.

With a deep breath, he nodded in reply. Of course he could do this.

He skated out to the center, taking his starting pose as he waited for the music to begin. His normally calm heart rate was elevated, and as the first notes began to play and he moved along with them, Yuuri realized that he didn't exactly know what came next.

All of his practice was being thrown out the window as he struggled to remember what the first jump was supposed to be. Was it a triple? It had to be. As he circled the ice, spreading his arms out wide, he pushed off, launching himself into a triple axel. That felt right, at least.

Dropping into a spin, he squeezed his eyes shut. He needed to listen to the music. He had the muscle memory to lead him, if all else failed. He just needed to keep calm and try to concentrate. 

Yuuri rose, taking a sharp turn into a short step sequence, which would be immediately followed by a combination jump. 

He kicked off, rising and falling back to the ice in what seemed to be too short a period of time. Under rotating, his legs stumbled, and what was meant to be a combination turned into a lousy single. 

He tried to keep his breathing even. There was no point in hyperventilating when the exertion of the program was already making it difficult to catch his breath. 

He needed to recover from this. He'd done well in hundreds of practices, and even in the competitions leading up to this one. Why did today have to be the day he struggled?

Throwing himself into the program, Yuuri attempted to simply lose himself in the music, as if he was skating alone in the rink with nobody watching. The simple noise of the crowd was still enough to make his concentration lapse though, and he continued to stumble through the remainder of his jumps. 

The only thing that could possibly save his score would be his presentation points, and even then, as Yuuri took his final stance, he knew that it wouldn't be enough. He'd been too stiff, too nervous, and too on edge to make a good performance. 

He'd failed. Badly.

As he stepped off the rink, he could tell that Celestino was trying to put on a cheerful face, but he could see through it as easily as how surely the man could see the tears Yuuri was desperately trying to hold back. 

The kiss and cry awaited him, but that was the last place he wanted to be. With a choked back sob, he settled down on the bench, looking down at his feet, rather than up to the screen where he knew his score would be displayed.

The silence between him, Celestino, and the reporters surrounding them was deafening. Then, the noise and flashes of cameras meant it was being displayed. He couldn't look.

With a slow glance, Yuuri squinted past his bad eyesight without his glasses to read the numbers across from his name.

232.59.

Certainly what would be the worst score on the board. Last place. 

A failure. 

With a shudder of a breath, and tears welling up and threatening to spill over, he cast his gaze back downwards, hoping with everything he had that he could simply just disappear from view. 

He'd put so much effort into reaching this one spot, but he hadn't accomplished his goal. He'd wanted to medal. He'd wanted to stand tall at the Grand Prix Final with Victor Nikiforov and other amazing skaters. He'd missed that mark by a landslide. His score was practically a joke. 

He was aware of Celestino talking - probably to a nearby reporter - but there wasn't much else that registered with him as he was slowly lead up into a standing position to walk away from the rink and it's surrounding crowds. 

As if they were waiting to be free from so many scrutinizing gazes, the first of many tears fell as they entered the less populated hallway, and Yuuri quickly brushed off his coach's words of concern. He just wanted to be alone. 

The bathroom, once again, was the nearest location where he could find some privacy. He slammed one of the stall doors shut behind himself, locking it with shaking fingers. He collapsed into a sitting position, running his hands anxiously over his knees as tears spilled down his cheeks. He tried to not sob, but only made a choking noise instead.

"I- I'm sorry," he whispered quietly, although who he was apologizing to, he didn't know.

~~~~~~~~~~

Victor loved surprising people. Living his life in the spotlight meant that he always had to do something new, something innovative, or they would say he'd peaked. Being predictable meant being on a decline, and a decline would mean the end of his career.

But lately, when even surpassing the competition, and being at what seemed to be the height of his body's athletic ability was expected, he was running out of options.

The reporter's smile as he asked questions about Victor's skating was genuine, but that wasn't really anything new. They all seemed to want to smile when talking to him. Even now, when Victor's expression was as tired as could be, the man grinned on.

He was prepared to hear a question about next season, so when it finally came, he fiddled with the gold hanging from his neck, and tapped a finger against his chin. "We'll have to see," Victor finally allowed himself to say, smiling lightly for the cameras. It didn't reach his eyes.

Yakov accompanied him out to the main hall after the interviews, chattering on about how crowded and noisy it was. Victor had long since gotten used to the fact that his coach was just a crotchety old man who would forever be complaining about the 'youths'. It was actually a bit endearing, once you got used to him, that was.

A hard slap on his back drew Victor's attention behind himself, and he turned to see Yuri standing there. "Nice skating," the boy said with pinched together eyebrows, as if it pained him somehow. 

Victor smiled anyway. "Thank you, Yuri." 

The area was swarming with people, but in that one moment, after that one sentence, Victor's mind swam with the need to turn around. More reporters were standing before him, vying to be the first of many for some sort of exclusive information, but he didn't pay any attention to them. He was looking for something else. _What_ , he wasn't sure.

His eyes met widened brown ones, and the shock on Victor's face was surely noticeable, if it could have been caught before pure delight overtook it instead.

_Yuuri_. 

His was a face that Victor wouldn't soon forget. He first saw it years ago in a dirty bathroom he'd found in an unfamiliar American skating rink, and now, here it was again.

His soulmate. And oh, he seemed to have gotten more beautiful with age. Victor had been practically besotted before, even knowing next to nothing about the man, but now he couldn't imagine anyone better. 

At first, after they'd switched, he hadn't wanted anything more than to run to America to look for the man. Of course, his knowledge of Yuuri had been limited. He'd known the name from a locked cellphone, but he hadn't gone snooping too far beyond that. Victor had only glanced into a sports bag, taking note of what appeared to be textbooks and a set of casual clothes. There had been a ring of keys, and one of them looked like it belonged to a locker. But, as temped as he'd been to look inside it, it was the general consensus that prying into a soulmate's private matters was inconsiderate, even if only to find out who they were. 

So, he'd held back, leaving only a simple note before going on a search for a mirror. And how glad he'd been that he did. Yuuri was wonderfully attractive. 

After a unknown amount of time deliberating, Victor had easily managed to decide that Yuuri looked best when he was smiling. 

But, he wasn't smiling now. The note he'd left after their switch said that he'd been a fan of Victor's, so the red rimmed eyes and defeated posture didn't make much sense. They were _here_ together, meeting eyes properly, in their own bodies, for the first time. Why wasn't he happier? Victor felt overcome with emotion of a positive nature, so he couldn't understand why his soulmate didn't feel the same.

Despite his concern and confusion, the grin wouldn't leave his face. He wasn't sure he could make it, even if he had to. Yuuri, for his part, still seemed to be standing there in shock. How much time had passed now? It couldn't have been more than a second or two, but for Victor it felt like hours. 

"A commemorative photo?" he asked, unable to contain his excitement. He needed to document this exact moment. The moment he met his soulmate in person, after waiting for so many years.

A second passed. And then two, and Victor watched as Yuuri's eyes got impossibly wider before he turned and walked away without a word.

His face fell. Why? Why had his soulmate, who'd seemed like he was eager to meet from the note he'd written, turned his back on Victor?

Everyone around him seemed to be oblivious to what exactly had happened, and he swallowed down his shame and crushed emotions with an audible gulp as he watched Yuuri walk away, disappearing into the crowd. His feet felt rooted to their spot, unable to move like he so desperately wanted to. 

"Victor!" Yuri growled next to him, and he jumped in response.

"Huh? What?"

"Were you even listening to me? I said, the reporters all want to talk to you. Are you gonna, or not?"

He looked back at the place where he'd last seen Yuuri, but his soulmate was long gone now. Victor doubted he'd be able to find him now without causing much of a scene, and he got the despairing feeling that the man didn't want much to do with him right now.

He wasn't going to cry. Not right now, when all eyes were on him. "No, I already did earlier. I'd like to go to the hotel and rest before the banquet." Really, he just wanted to be alone to process the unexpected rejection that was making his chest feel tight, but what Yuri and Yakov didn't know wouldn't hurt them. 

"Then you better leave before they corner you."

"Right. Yeah, I - I'll go, then," he muttered, his voice sounding faraway to his own ears. He told Yakov something about catching a cab, but turned and made for outside before even listening for his coach's response. Surely, the man was yelling after him right now, but Victor wasn't really listening.

He was thinking about Yuuri's face instead, and how absolutely wrecked he'd looked. He was thinking about how the man had simply turned away from him without even saying anything. 

He was trying his absolute hardest to _not_ think about how much that hurt. And, as he climbed into a cab, quickly giving the name of his hotel, he was resolutely ignoring the tear that fell down his cheek. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was certainly something, wasn't it?  
> I'm sorry that I've put both of them in such bad places emotionally right now....  
> But I hope you enjoyed this chapter nonetheless! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this chapter was worth the wait <3  
> I'm posting this really late at night as well, so hopefully the grammatical errors are at a minimum.  
> Nevertheless, if you see something wrong, feel free to give me a 'lil correction c:

The trip to his hotel, Victor thinks, is one of the most difficult journeys he's ever had to endure. He'd long since gotten used to being watched, judged, and otherwise scrutinized by strangers, and has become adept at schooling his emotions accordingly. He was a figure skater, after all. Negative emotions were for the ice.

But in the back of the cab, it had taken all of his effort to not outright sob. He didn't want the man driving to know that he was feeling anything less than normal, even if it wouldn't have been any of his business anyway.

Skaters' hearts were fragile as glass, especially when soulmates were involved. Out of all of the outcomes he could have predicted happening, having Yuuri immediately reject him would never have been one of them. Maybe in the back of his mind he would have thought of it - worried over it - but he never would have imagined it actually happening. 

Soulmates were supposed to be meant for one another. Meeting was the once in a lifetime, 'magical' moment of fate. He'd been more than eager to meet his own, and he'd thought that Yuuri had felt the same. Of course, Victor had only gotten one apparently hastily written letter to go off of, but that had seemed like more than enough of a positive encouragement.

Yuuri had said he was a fan, and a skater himself. They'd both been there at the Grand Prix. _Why_ , when they were finally right there together, had the man chosen to turn his back? 

Had he been too nervous? But would something like that really make him turn away completely? Victor couldn't imagine measures that extreme being taken just because of a case of nerves. Wouldn't happiness overrun them anyway? 

So then _why_? Why weren't they with one another right now, talking about their lives and leaving shy, but lingering touches that promised a bond which, in the future, would be too strong to ever break? 

The thought made him scowl slightly, despite his wet eyes, and when the cab came to a rough stop, he tossed some money at the man without even waiting for his change. 

He stomped in a wholly undignified manner through the hotel lobby with a quick pace, his head down and his coat closed up over the gold medal that felt heavy hanging from his neck. Luckily, he made it to an empty elevator, and was on the way up to his floor without anyone noticing him. It was likely that everyone expected him to still be at the rink, so they weren't on the lookout for him here. Victor was thankful for that, at least.

There was a tugging in his chest that he easily identified as longing. He wanted to see Yuuri again, to talk to him, and especially ask what he'd ever done wrong that would make the man turn and leave like that. 

He sighed. Perhaps Victor would get lucky and have the chance to speak to him again before the celebrations for the Grand Prix died down, but he was believing those chances to be low. Yuuri didn't seem to want to interact with him at all. He could chase after him, but where would he even begin? The truth of the matter was, he didn't know much about his soulmate. Just that he lived in America, going by the language splattered around the rink he'd been in during their switch, but that wasn't a lot to go off of. He'd been too distracted by finding out what the man had looked like to pay much attention to his surroundings. 

He regretted that a lot now. He regretted a great many things, actually. He wished that they could have had more contact over the years, but he hadn't left any information of that sort, and neither had Yuuri. In fact, Victor hadn't even gotten a last name out of the man. He suspected that wasn't on purpose, though. He'd had years to analyze the one thing Yuuri had given to him, and there was a faint trace of ink after his first name, like he'd been writing, and gotten interrupted. They must have switched before he could finish. 

He made do, though. Kept focused on the future, and his skating career. He'd always had complete faith that he would meet his soulmate again, whether through another switch, or otherwise. Fortunately, his wishes had come to pass. Unfortunately, it hadn't all worked out quite as he'd planned.

He wanted his arms wrapped around his soulmate right now, not to be unlocking the door to an empty hotel room. 

He walked forwards, before turning and collapsing onto the bed. It was a relatively soft one, and he bounced lightly as he threw one arm across his eyes. They'd dried; his initial emotional response of dejection at being rejected had turned into a sort of confused vexation. 

Of course, the sorrow was still there, but Victor was planning on burying it deeply, only to be dealt with at a later time. He had a banquet in a few hours, after all, and needed to make a good appearance.

With a sigh, determined to keep Yuuri off his mind since he was nowhere close to reaching an answer to _that_ problem, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his notifications. He had a message from Yakov, asking why he'd run off so quickly, but ignored it. He'd deal with his coach later. 

Instead, he focused on browsing through the recent news about the Grand Prix. As expected, his fifth consecutive win was making headlines, but Victor didn't pay any mind to those. Nothing regarding himself could hold his attention long enough to keep his mind off of Yuuri, so he looked for articles regarding his competition instead. 

Many were in a positive light, detailing the routines and final placements, with a rather surprising amount of congratulations to the skaters that hadn't placed on the podium.

However, one in particular caught his attention, for it sounded far more negative that he could have expected. 'Katsuki Suffers Utter Defeat' rang out in its dark, bolded letters, and Victor didn't hesitate before clicking the link. 

He rushed up into a sitting position, his mouth gaping open, and eyes widened in shock. 

There, on his phone's screen, was his soulmate, captured in a photograph as he sat in the kiss and cry, a look of utter disappointment settled over his features. _Katsuki Yuuri_ was a Grand Prix finalist, and Victor had never even known it. 

That was undoubtedly his own fault. He hadn't payed much attention to the newer competition this year. Especially not to those who had competed in different locations than him leading up to the Finals. He'd had his mind set on figuring out what he was going to do next year. Skate, practice, win, repeat. He'd been giving himself less and less time to pay attention to anything outside of his own problems. So, it was easy to admit that he hadn't been scanning the ice for his soulmate.

Of course, he'd heard the name Katsuki, but _Yuuri_ had never followed it when he was paying enough attention to notice. He had nothing to go off that would even suggest his soulmate's last name, so he hadn't thought a thing of it. He'd barely paid the man any mind. He'd been far too distant and unattached to the people around him this year, it seemed. Chris could probably scold him. The man had surely talked about Yuuri before. He could be such a natural gossip at times. 

A feeling of dread settled deep in his stomach when he realized that all the blame regarding the state of their relationship could be placed entirely on him. 

Of course, he hadn't wanted to push Yuuri into anything four years ago, and they'd certainly both been busy, so he'd left the issue of soulmates alone. But to think that they'd been competing against one another for so long already, and Victor hadn't even noticed? Yuuri probably assumed that he had no interest in even talking, which was exactly the opposite of the truth. Perhaps that was why, when Victor had finally spoken to him, he'd turned away.

He groaned then, once again falling backwards against the bed. He was the biggest idiot, and definitely didn't deserve Yuuri now, after ignoring him, even if it had been unintentional. And after receiving such a low score, the man must be feeling absolutely awful today.

Victor's heart clenched with a feeling of concern, and he rolled over onto his side. There was still the banquet to go, and his soulmate was almost certainly going to attend. He could try to make amends there.  

Feeling a bit more confident, and very determined, he closed his eyes to try and get some rest before he went to meet Yuuri once again. He was going to make sure that it went better this time around.

~~~~~~~~~~

Victor's expression was somber as he readied for the banquet. His shower didn't seem to help relax his tired, but tensed muscles, and he didn't feel as good in his new suit as he had when he'd first tried it on. 

Even though he planned to reconcile with Yuuri later that night, the fact that he'd somehow missed realizing the man was his soulmate was weighing heavily on his mind. He couldn't help but to worry that he'd missed his chance already.

With a small frown he tightened his tie, and twisted his cuff links, even though he'd long since made himself as presentable as could be. His grey suit was buttoned, and his blue tie was knotted properly. He took one last look at the mirror before forcing himself to stop messing around with his attire. He knew he was just prolonging the inevitable.

He was _nervous_.

It'd been a rather long time since he had been properly nervous. The butterflies in his stomach were setting him off balance, and he was stiffer than usual. What was he going to do if Yuuri didn't show up to be banquet? Or even worse, if he _did_ , but ignored Victor completely?

An insistent knock on the door jolted him out of his thoughts, and he took a deep breath before unlocking it and yanking it open. He'd expected Yakov, and so his eyes widened in surprise when he saw that it was actually Chris standing there, donned in his own suit.

"Hello?" he prompted, raising an eyebrow in question at the unexpected visit. 

"Hi, Victor," the man replied, taking a step back, rather than moving forward to walk inside, like Victor had been expecting him to do. "We have to get to the banquet, do we not?" 

Victor complied, albeit hesitantly, and followed him out into the hallway, though he continued to look upon his friend with a curious gaze. "Where's Yakov?"

Chris hummed for a moment, and began to walk, prompting Victor to do the same. "Well, I saw him and Yuri at the rink, and they looked a bit worried. They said you'd rushed off without much of an explanation. So, I told your coach that as your friend, I'd check up on you before the banquet."

Victor rubbed at the back of his head, mussing up the base of his hairline a bit as he did so. He hadn't thought about it much at the time, but he had left the rink alone, without any explanation as to why.

"Did something happen?"

Instead of really answering, he was quiet for a moment before asking his own question, phrasing it carefully. "Do you know Katsuki Yuuri?" 

Chris seemed surprised at the inquiry, blinking before nodding his head. "Well, a little. He's actually rather quiet. Seems shy to me. Highly focused on his skating. It's a shame he did so bad today, he's actually very good. But why?" An elevator had just opened up on their floor, and they stepped inside. Thankfully, everyone in it walked out, leaving them alone.

"I talked to him for the first time today." In person, at least. "I'd never actually... noticed that he was competing in the Grand Prix before today."

"Can I be honest?" and at Victor's nod of affirmation, he continued, "You didn't seem to notice much at all this year. You've seemed to be feeling down lately." Chris sighed then, shaking his head. "But, that's not what's bothering you now, right? We can always talk about that another time. So then, why does this Yuuri matter so much?"

"Because the whole time we were competing, I didn't know it was _him_."

"Is that such a bad thing? Maybe a little rude to not notice that he was around, but he generally keeps to himself, and is rather new, anyway."

Victor groaned lightly in frustration. He knew it was rude, but it was far worse than Chris was thinking. "He's my _soulmate_."

That seemed to get the other man's attention, and he coughed in his shock. "You've switched with him?"

"Around four years ago, yes," Victor said as the elevator opened on the lobby floor. They walked out, but the conversation continued.

"Why didn't you contact him earlier?"

Victor ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head lightly. "He was in college and skating, and I was almost continuously competing and practicing. There just wasn't really time for it," he muttered with a small grimace, like admitting it was unpleasant. In a way, it was.

"So," Chris began, after a moment's pause to gather his thoughts. "You're upset that you didn't notice your soulmate was in the same building as you, competing for the same medal as you?"

"Partially," Victor replied quietly.

"But you said that you'd talked?"

"Well, I talked to him. He walked away from me. It was a short conversation."

"What? Why? Was it because you hadn't talked earlier? Was he mad?"

Chris' continuous stream of questions wasn't exactly doing much to improve Victor's nerves, but he took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. "I don't know. I think that I might have said the wrong thing to him."

"And _that's_ what's really bothering you. That he walked away." It wasn't phrased as a question. Victor simply nodded.

Chris gave him a sympathetic look. "Listen, I don't know him very well, alright? But from what I've seen, he's incredibly kind, and seems to be a bit self conscious. Maybe he was just feeling overwhelmed. After all, he lost and you got gold. That might be a bit much for anyone, never mind the soulmates issue."

Victor sighed, but nodded once again. The man did have a point. "Maybe you're right. I was going to try to talk to him again at the banquet anyway. I'll apologize and fix it then."

"Good idea," Chris said, patting his shoulder in a reassuring manner. "We'd better go if you want to get there and find your man on time, then," he continued with a flirty wink.

Victor couldn't help but to chuckle. His friend had an uncanny way of cheering him up on the rather rare occasions that he shared his worries. 

They finally made their way through the hotel lobby and out onto the street. There were a few reporters standing around with cameras and microphones pointed in their direction, but they were both used to that sort of treatment by now. They answered the occasional question before getting into a car and giving the driver directions. 

"Don't be too nervous, Victor," Chris said suddenly, and he looked over in surprise.

"I won't be."

~~~~~~~~~~

The champagne at the banquet was good, but Victor wasn't very interested in drinking it, and was still nursing his first glass. He was far more intrigued by the dark haired man he could see in one corner of the room, downing drinks like they were the best thing he'd ever tasted. 

Yuuri was obviously not going to make small talk with any of the guests or sponsors until he was satisfied with the amount of alcohol he'd imbibed. The man was also adamantly refusing to even look in Victor's direction, but he was keeping an eye on him nonetheless. 

It hurt, even though he was aware that he was mainly the one to blame for the man's behavior. Awareness, however, didn't take away the pain that came as he watched Yuuri drink himself into a haze.

Victor didn't really know what he expected to come from it, either. Was drinking a way to forget the events of the day, or was it something that he was simply using to fill the time until his coach would let him leave the banquet? Or, perhaps it was both?

However, Chris strolling up and chatting with the man was the least expected of all. Victor watched, an odd pang of jealousy beating in his chest as they talked. Yuuri actually slowed down on his drink, taking small sips rather than downing the whole thing in one go. He was flashing the most brilliant smiles, and it was the happiest Victor had seen him all day.

He supposed that being drunk could have that effect, no matter how upset one would feel while sober.

He kept a close watch on the two, knowing how touchy Chris could get when he drank too much. He trusted his friend, but Victor wasn't currently in a position to think rationally. A vicious mixture of shame and envy was swirling in his gut and he just wanted to go to Yuuri and _kiss_ him.

He didn't though. He would bide his time, chatting up the sponsors until an opportunity to approach his soulmate presented itself. Even if he had to wait until the banquet was over, he would do so.

Said opportunity came quicker than he thought it would.

"I still don't like talking to them. They look too closely, like they're inspecting me or some shit," Yuri was complaining next to him, the boy's voice a whisper as the sponsors he was referring to walked away, on their way to another skater.

"Of course they're inspecting you," he replied in bored toned Russian. Yuri was already adept enough at ignoring critical gazes. He was just complaining for the sake of it. Normally, Victor would indulge him, but his attention was captivated by something far more interesting. 

Yuuri was making his way over, his walk poised, even though it was obvious to anyone who looked that he was absolutely drunk. 

"Yuri Plisetsky," he drawled, somehow able to look determined, despite the haze of alcohol that Victor could see in his eyes. "If you think you can just corner me in a bathroom to yell at me, then fight me right now."

Victor glared down at the younger. He'd _cornered_ him in a bathroom to yell at him? There would definitely be some words had about that later, but for now, he focused on the current conversation. It seemed far more important.

"Fight you? What are you even talking about?" he scoffed, crossing his arms. He looked interested at least, rather than outright angry. 

"You think I shouldn't skate anymore? Then we'll have a dance battle, and I'll prove I'm a better dancer than you'll ever be." 

It seemed that Yuuri was the sort of person who faced all of their problems once they were drunk enough to forget why they were ignoring them in the first place. They were making a scene, but the man clearly didn't care. He didn't even seem to notice them. In fact, he didn't even look like he noticed Victor standing there. His focus was entirely on Yuri at the moment.

The boy laughed, and Victor could see his eyes gleam in the way that only a competitive challenge could make them. "You're on," he growled, loosening his tie as he stalked forwards towards the middle of the floor. The crowd seemed to naturally divide for him, leaving a path behind. Yuuri was wearing an oddly proud expression as he followed, and Victor found himself grinning. This would be entertaining, at least. If he couldn't have a conversation with the man, then he'd take all the pleasure he could from watching him dance.

He made his way after them, finding Chris watching the beginning of the spectacle. They were setting out some sort of rules in simple English. Yuuri's words were far too slurred for anything too complicated to come out properly. 

"Who do you think will win?" his friend asked, and Victor turned to see that he had a curious sort of expression on his face. It was expectant, but he couldn't figure out why.

"I've never seen Yuuri dance," he said quietly in reply.

"I've never seen either of them dance like this," Chris chuckled. "The results might surprise us."

"How are they going to dance?" Victor asked, keeping his gaze on the two standing together in the middle of the floor.

"You'll see," was the only reply he received, and it sounded far too mischievous to make Victor feel comfortable. 

His only response was a simple hum though, and he pulled out his phone. Yuri was apparently choosing some form of music, so Yuuri contented himself by dancing around alone with a bottle of champagne he'd grabbed from _somewhere_. While drunk, he was still surprisingly graceful, and Victor snapped a few photos for himself to keep and look at later.

"Alright, Pig, are you ready?" and Yuuri snapped to attention, tossing the bottle to some poor, unsuspecting member of the waitstaff, who somehow managed to catch it before it shattered on the ground.

"Are you?" was his simple response, and then they began to move to the music. 

Freestyle _breakdancing_ was never a talent he would have though either of them to posses, but they were both surprisingly good at it. Yuuri, however, was undeniably better. They way he moved seemed magical somehow. And, despite all of his drink, he was still able to beat Yuri, plain and simple. It was surely a fact that would leave him sore for a long time to come, and Victor didn't plan to ever let the boy live it down. 

He couldn't take standing on the sides silently anymore. He made his way over to the man, dragging his gaze along his body. He'd lost his suit jacket somewhere along the way as he'd danced, and looked amazing. "Yuuri," he cooed. "Where did you learn to dance like that?"

Yuuri turned and blinked, like he didn't seem to understand who it was that was talking to him at the moment. After a few silent seconds though, his eyes widened and an impossibly pleased grin brightened his entire face. "Victor!" he yelled, practically launching himself forward, clinging onto the man like it was for dear life.

Victor worked his mouth open and closed, suddenly at a loss for what he wanted to say. He was touching his soulmate, and the rush of peace and how _right_ it was gave him a feeling of home and belonging that he hadn't experienced in years. It was a sensation worth waiting for, and if that was what made Yuuri suddenly cling tighter, well, Victor wasn't complaining. 

"Victor," the man drawled, like he didn't want to stop saying it. "Victor, why didn't you ever come talk to me?" he whined in sloppy English, looking up with wet, curious eyes.

His heart melted, and a light flush dusted his cheeks. "I'm sorry, Yuuri, I should have gone to see you."

Incoherent Japanese was the response, before the man shook his head rapidly. "Was it because I didn't impress you enough? You're obviously the better skater but," he trailed off suddenly, and Victor moved to gently touch the side of his face, ignoring the glances that were being cast in their direction by all of the nearby banquet guests.

"Of course not. You're a good dancer, Yuuri." he insisted. 

A low whistle finally drew his attention away and over to Chris, who was watching with one eyebrow raised. He shrugged his shoulders, and his friend just smiled knowingly. Yuuri being drunk when the talked for the first time in person wasn't really what he wanted or planned on, but he would try his best to make sure he was able to apologize like he wanted. He just hoped that the man remembered it in the morning. He doubted that Chris wolf whistling at them would be helpful, though.

"Oh, Chris!" Yuuri suddenly cheered, finally glancing over to follow Victor's gaze. The call seemed to interest the man, and he walked over, his curiosity plain to see in his eyes.

"Hello, Yuuri, Victor," he greeted, wearing a small smile. 

"Chris, I want to dance," the man whined immediately. "I want Victor to think I'm a good dancer." The way he practically begged made Victor's heart ache, and his guilt that he felt at not speaking to the man sooner seemed to increase tenfold. 

"Everyone already knows how much of a good dancer you are," Chris said with ease. It was quite obvious, given the little dance battle from just moments before. 

"But it's Victor," he continued, like he hadn't heard anything, and like that was reason enough to need to show off. It didn't make much sense, but Yuuri continued on without elaborating. "And we're soulmates, y'know. I want him to like me." He ended his statement by promptly shoving his face into Victor's shoulder.

The light flush that had already been dusting his cheeks darkened, and he looked over to Chris helplessly. He'd already told his friend that they'd switched, but he hadn't expected Yuuri to just admit it like that. Would he have done so sober, or did he just have no filter at all when he was drunk? Hearing the word made his heart flutter anyway though, and he was, surprisingly, at a loss for how to act.

Chris's expression wasn't helping. It was mischievous, and Victor didn't trust it at all. "Yuuri," he began, "I know just the way for you to impress him."

The man's eyes seemed to light up at the suggestion, and he finally backed away from Victor. The loss of warmth was a little jolting, but he didn't let himself reach out to pull Yuuri back, like he wanted to do.

"How?" he asked eagerly, and Chris' only answer was to gently usher him out of Victor's hearing range. He watched them go with a suspicious eye, but didn't protest. Despite what was probably his better judgement, he trusted his friend to not do anything too drastic. 

Instead of worrying after them, he finished his glass of champagne, and grabbed another to nurse while he waited for whatever plan Chris had thought up to be set into motion.  He hated that Yuuri felt like he needed to be impressed, and would rather be talking with the man and attempting to dispel those thoughts, but maybe this plan would work better. It seemed as though Yuuri lacked confidence, so perhaps if he felt like he _had_ impressed Victor, then the fear would disappear on their own. 

And besides, he felt as though he was already more than enamored by the man. It surely wouldn't be difficult for Yuuri to impress him, no matter what it was that he would be doing.

He occupied himself by walking around the hall, occasionally stopping to exchange pleasantries with a guest or two. It was incredibly boring, now that he'd gotten a taste of what a drunk Yuuri could bring to the party. 

A commotion of sorts suddenly drew his attention, and he glanced around to try and see what exactly started it. He had a lingering feeling that he already knew, though. He made his way through the crowd, following the sound of laughter and shocked gasps. Mila was standing near the center of the noise with Sara, and he gave them a confused look. They simply chuckled, pointing past the last few people in their way.

Victor pushed past them, freezing in place when he was finally given an uninterrupted view of what had exactly drawn the crowd's attention.  His eyes widened, and he barely held onto his drink as it slipped slightly in his slackened grip. 

Yuuri's face was flushed, his tie loose, and his unbuttoned shirt hung from his shoulders as he held onto the pole with his thighs, spinning in a lazy circle. Victor squeaked loudly, and he cleared his throat lightly to cover it up. _This_ was Chris' plan? Where had they even found a pole? He certainly hadn't noticed one just laying around beforehand. 

He wanted to find his friend and ask exactly why his soulmate was currently pole dancing in the middle of a formal event, but he was stuck in place. He couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from the man, and it wasn't too long before he gave up entirely.

Yuuri was captivating. It was obvious that he'd done this before. The way he held himself, and the confidence with which he moved alluded to experience. There was a thin sheen of sweat on the man's skin, giving him an ethereal glow.

Yuuri was perfect. Attractive. _Sexy_. 

He could hear the sounds of cheering, laughter, and whistles. The other skaters were especially loud, and their noise drowned out the whispers of anyone who was feeling a bit scandalized by the scene. At some point, Chris joined Yuuri on the pole, and having him get in on the act brought a bubble of laughter out of Victor. Even Yuri seemed to be finding humor in it, and was snapping photos. He should probably do the same, but he didn't want to draw his attention away for even the few seconds it would take to get his phone out.

His soulmate was simply godlike on that pole. 

Eventually, Yuuri spun himself to the ground, and was awarded with a what was practically a roar of applause, Victor the loudest of all. The man seemed to notice, and after putting his previously discarded pants back on, he stalked over, determination and joy in his gaze.

"Victor," he said in that same, already familiar drawl. "What did you think?"

His breath hitched, and he pulled Yuuri closer. There was still music playing, so he pulled the man along as he began to sway his hips to the beat. "You looked absolutely wonderful, Moya zvezdochka," Victor said, and laughed lightly at the scrunched up expression the man's face took on at the unfamiliar words. 

"Really?" he asked, eyes far too wide and innocent for someone who just did something so sexual in front of a large crowd. 

Victor nodded, picking up their pace. People were watching them, but he didn't care. He took joy in being able to spin his soulmate around in a carefree dance. He was more joyous that he could ever remember feeling. Even the weight of a gold medal hanging from his neck couldn't compare to having Yuuri nearby. 

They weren't following any choreography, but they still somehow fit together, following the same steps, even though they were making them up as they went along. A slow waltz transformed into a salsa, which flowed into a swing. 

And when finally they broke apart to stop, they erupted into a fit of giggles together. Yuuri was the first to speak. "Victor, you should come visit me in Hasetsu," he declared eagerly as he reached out to clasp their hands together. "I want to skate for you." Suddenly, he gasped, as though he'd come up with an idea, and he pulled Victor into a crushing hug. "Be my coach, Victor!" he exclaimed, a happy, drunken grin on his face. He was shuffling his body around in a rather _provocative_ way, and Victor was having a bit of a difficult time paying attention to the slurred words. 

When he did register them, his eyes widened, and he sucked in a surprised breath. He'd never considered coaching, but suddenly it seemed like the best idea he'd ever heard. Skating and competing didn't bring him joy anymore, but staying close to the sport through his soulmate was the perfect change of pace that he needed. And if he could support Yuuri, that was even better.

"Yuuri!" a voice called out before he could respond, and he looked up to see Celestino approaching them, carrying the suit jacket that had been abandoned sometime earlier in the night. Where had he found that, and where had he been this entire time? Yuuri, for his part, either didn't know or didn't care that his coach was calling for him.

"Hello Celestino," Victor said, once the man was close enough.

"Oh, Victor. I'm so sorry about Yuuri. I got caught up talking with some sponsors and coaches outside the hall. I didn't realize what a mess he'd started." He shook his head at his student, but his expression wasn't one of anger. Victor only saw concern.

"Ah, it's no problem. Having Yuuri around has been quite fun," he replied with a cheerful wink. That was a large understatement, considering that he was pretty sure having the man around was the best thing to ever happen to him. 

"I can see that," the coach chuckled. "I think I'll see him back to his room, though. He's got a plane to catch in the morning, and it looks like he's had a sizable amount to drink."

Yuuri seemed to have other plans. "No," he whined, tightening his grip. "I want to stay with Victor."

Celestino's expression shifted slightly to one of exasperation, but Victor held up one hand before he could continue. "Wait, I don't really mind. I can bring him back to his room. I'll make sure he gets there safely." 

The older man seemed to consider this for a few seconds, glancing between Victor's face, and the way that Yuuri was practically wrapped around him. "Well," he eventually said, "If you wouldn't mind too much."

"It would be my absolute pleasure," he hummed with a wide grin. 

"Okay, then. Looks like he'd definitely prefer you over me, anyway. So, here's his jacket. His key should be in there."

"Thank you, Celestino," he said, voice genuine. The man simply nodded, telling him the hotel name and wishing him the best of luck before taking his leave of them.

Victor chuckled, finally turning his attention back to Yuuri, who hadn't stopped clinging to him. "Alright, Moya zvezdochka, let's go, shall we?" he asked, gently prying the man away from him. 

"Where are we going?" he mumbled, stumbling over the words. Victor simply chuckled at the cute confused expression he was wearing.

"To your hotel room," he answered simply, pulling Yuuri forwards towards the exit. Luckily, the man was acting very pliant, and followed along without complaint. Victor took advantage and pulled out his phone, sending a quick text to Mila that he was leaving with Yuuri. She responded with a winking emoji, and he didn't even bother giving _that_ a reply. Victor wouldn't even think of anything like that while the man was drunk.

The trip outside and into a waiting cab was rather uneventful, with Yuuri simply mumbling on and on about how he couldn't believe he was _Victor Nikiforov's_ soulmate. The way that the man's heavy tongue butchered his last name was a little endearing, but he disagreed. He was the lucky one, getting someone like Yuuri, and he planned to make sure that the man knew it. 

For now though, he let the man gush, and gave the driver the hotel's name.

~~~~~~~~~~

"We're here, Yuuri. Let's go," Victor spoke gently to the man once the cab came to a stop in front of the hotel. It had been a short trip, but Yuuri had still seemed to doze off as they'd sat there. 

Once the man was awake enough to leave the car, he paid the fare and thanked the driver as they stepped out. Yuuri somehow moved fast enough to immediately glue himself to Victor's side before they even began walking. It made maneuvering a bit difficult, but he didn't really mind. In fact, this seemed preferable. He wanted to have the man as close as possible from now on. 

The conversation was at a minimum, as Yuuri seemed to be reaching his limit. Victor was concerned that he'd need to carry him, but the man once again surprised him as they made it all the way to the elevator, and then his room door.

Victor had the suit jacket laying over his arm, and he wiggled around Yuuri so that he could dig around in the pockets. He found the key, just as Celestino had promised he would, and yanked the door open so that they could step through together.

"Ah, this is my hotel room," Yuuri said in wonder, like he'd forgotten that this was where they'd been going. Victor laughed lightly and agreed. The expression of awe stayed on the man's face, and he finally let go of his companion to collapse backwards onto the bed. 

"Yuuri," he said, trying to get his attention. Said man lifted his head, a questioning look on his face. Victor held up one finger in a motion for him to wait, and glanced around to room. It was only illuminated by a bedside lamp, but he could see a marker on the desk by the window. That would be perfect. 

He walked over and grabbed it before returning to the bed, sitting down lightly on the edge. He held out one hand expectantly, and when Yuuri's expression only got more confused. He sighed. "Your arm?" he asked with a fond sort of exasperation.

Yuuri's mouth opened in a little 'o' of understanding, and he did as asked. Victor scrawled the digits of his phone number, accompanied by a little heart before capping the marker again. "There," he said, looking up at the man with a pleased grin. "You'll call me, right?"

The man pulled his arm back to look at it, and traced a finger gently over the numbers. "Of course," he said excitedly, not even looking up. 

"Good," he chuckled. "Now, I think you need to sleep, don't you?" he asked, moving to stand. 

Yuuri's hand shot out and took a hold of his wrist. "You will visit me, won't you?" he asked, and the expression on his face was so open and pleading that Victor was pretty sure he was going to melt right there. Instead, he grinned.

"After you call me," he said with a little wink. That answer seemed to be good enough for Yuuri, and he nodded in reply with a little smile of his own. "Okay. Then I'm going to leave now. Celestino says you have a plane to catch in the morning."

Yuuri laid down and pressed his face into a pillow, mumbling something. Victor didn't quite catch it though, and shook his head lightly. The man was still fully clothed, but he appeared to already be getting comfortable. Instead of trying to convince him to get ready for bed properly, he simply let him be. "Goodnight, Yuuri. Sweet dreams," he hummed, shutting off the lamp and quietly making his way to the door by the light from the window. 

He shut the door softly behind him as he left, taking a deep breath. His night hadn't gone exactly as planned, seeing as how Yuuri had been a bit too drunk to have a proper conversation. But, he'd left the man his number, and was more than excited to start getting to know one another with his soulmate. 

He walked through the hall back to the elevator, a wide grin on his face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The banquet happened! I told you I'd write it, so I hope this fulfilled all of your expectations c:  
> If you enjoyed it, please let me know. I love reading your comments <3 
> 
> Russian:  
> Moya zvezdochka - my little star


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> This took a long time, didn't it? Many apologies ;-;  
> After some nudging from friends I finally got this written c;  
> Thank you for being patient with me, and I hope you all enjoy reading this chapter! <3

His night was short, dreamless, and dark, so when the light of morning hit his face, it felt far too bright against his already tightly shut eyelids. Yuuri reached an arm to cover them up, effectively shutting out the majority of the sun. His head was pounding, and he'd be lying if he said a woozy feeling wasn't staring to grow in his stomach, now that he was awake to notice it. 

With a groan of discomfort, he slowly brought himself up into a sitting position, using one arm to hold his body upright. He blinked, studying his surroundings, even though the glaring light wasn't helping him to focus. 

He was in his hotel room, and was extremely thankful for that since he couldn't remember _how_ he got there. Looking down, he was pleased to see that his clothes were still on. Although, their state could be considered questionable. His shirt was entirely unbuttoned, and his tie was barely hanging around his neck anymore. And where was his jacket?

With a panicked glance around the room, Yuuri breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it laying over the chair by the hotel's desk. He didn't have many, and was loathe to go out and buy a new one. It was concerning that he didn't remember taking it off, though. It seemed that he really had gone too far with the champagne at the banquet. If the missing memories weren't a good enough clue, the pounding in his head certainly was. 

Squinting, he slid off the bed, stretching lightly as he stood. He'd left his slacks on, apparently his glasses as well, and hadn't even bothered to get under the covers whenever he'd fallen asleep last night. 

Yawning, the frustrated feeling at not being able to remember was growing as he trudged into the bathroom. One glance in the mirror told Yuuri all he needed to know about how horrible he looked. His glasses and the sheets had left red lines all over his face from the way he'd been laying on them, and his hair was ruffled enough to make it look like he didn't own a comb. 

He sighed, reaching up to run his hands through the mess in an attempt to fix it. Unsurprisingly, it didn't work. Not that it mattered much, since he needed a shower anyway. The smell of alcohol lingered on his breath and skin, and it made him feel dirty.

A flash of something black on his inner arm caught his attention, and he twisted it to get a closer look. A hastily written number with a strange area code, and accented by a little heart at the end adorned the pale skin, the colors contrasting brightly. Noticeably. 

His face flushed as he thought about his missing clothes, missing memories, and the new number he'd apparently gotten from someone at some time in the night. Yuuri wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing that he didn't know who it belonged to. He'd obviously been too drunk to think properly. There was no knowing who he might have attempted to _interact_ with when he was lacking his faculties. 

He scrubbed at the number with his hand, hoping that it might rub off, but it unfortunately seemed to be permanent. He'd need to scrub it off in the shower. Once again sighing, he tugged his sleeve down over the writing before walking back to the bed. 

The number, and who it might belong to lingered in the back of his mind as he got some fresh clothes out of his suitcase, and searched for his phone. He eventually found it in his suit pocket, which was a relief. So far, nothing had gone missing in his drunken haze, which he was thankful for. Not being able to remember his own actions was off-putting, so Yuuri took comfort in what little things that he could. 

There was a message from Celestino, asking him if he'd reached his hotel room safely. It had been sent in the night, and Yuuri furrowed his brows in confusion. So if his coach hadn't returned him to his room after the banquet, who had? He doubted that he could have moved too far entirely on his own, given that he'd gotten himself so drunk. Had it been the same person who left their number on his arm? 

The thought of this person made his stomach tingle with a familiar warmth of comfort and pleasure, but he couldn't quite place what had made him feel that way before, or why he would be feeling it now. He considered asking Celestino what he was missing of the night before, but a fearful worry stopped him. A part of Yuuri didn't really want to know. He had, after all, been drinking to forget the day. And while he'd only succeeded in wiping away the night, bringing it up wasn't exactly something he was ready to do.

What he really wanted was to go back home and forget. Forget sixth place, and forget his mistakes. 

He carefully wrote out a message saying that he just woke up, but had gotten to the hotel fine, and sent it to his coach. He was going to lock his phone immediately after, but his fingers hovered, and the warm feeling in his gut grew. 

Before thinking too carefully about it, he opened up his contacts and added the number that had been scrawled on his arm. He named the mystery person 'Banquet', saved the entry, and then tossed his phone onto the bed so that he couldn't change his mind.

Yuuri didn't have any reason to keep the number, and he doubted that he would ever even send anything to the person on the other end, but the strange feeling he got whenever he thought about it - which rolled in his stomach, but somehow didn't make him feel sick - was enough to compel him to do it anyways. 

He scurried - as much as a hungover person could, that was - into the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself and cranking the water temperature up high. Steam was quick to fog over the mirror as he stepped into the shower, tilting his head back so water ran through his hair. 

His head was still pounding, and he'd have to take medicine once he finished washing, but for now he stood there, enjoying the heat of the water and the hotel's fantastic pressure level. It was much better than his own back in Detroit. 

He rubbed the soap over his body, slowly and methodically, and watched as the black ink of the writing on his arm quickly disappeared with minimal scrubbing. It was gone, but the number was not. For some reason, that thought comforted him, though Yuuri couldn't think of why. He must have done something incredibly strange while drunk, but his mind now refused to let him remember what.

His shower was quick, but relaxing all the same, and he shut off the water with a happy sigh. It wasn't quite as good as a bath, but he felt much better now that the smell of champagne wasn't lingering around anymore. His clothes likely still carried it, but those could be taken care of later. He didn't need to worry about them now. 

Yuuri toweled off his body, and rubbed the cloth over his hair. He left it damp as he tugged on an old t-shirt and sweatpants. He'd be spending the day on a plane after all, and wasn't in the mood to get dressed up for _that_. 

His phone, upon inspection after his shower, was waiting for him with another message from Celestino. His coach seemed pleased that he was alright, and eager to remind him that they were due at the airport in an hour. He wrote back quickly, acknowledging the message's content, but not saying much in return. 

Despite his general dislike of the stress of flying, Yuuri was eager to leave. The Grand Prix had been nothing but disappointment, and the sooner he could be back in the USA, away from it all, the better. 

That hour would pass by quickly, so Yuuri occupied his time by making sure all his belongings were tucked safely away in his luggage. His phone was surprisingly silent the whole time, but he took that to be a good thing. He couldn't have done anything too embarrassing in public last night if his notifications weren't going crazy on any new posts. 

That was a relief in itself. Yuuri knew very well that he tended to be more relaxed, and far bolder when he was drunk. He'd done a number of things he wouldn't normally do after having one too many drinks. Those times though, he'd had the safety of Phichit being a good enough friend to never expose him to the internet. A banquet so large was more likely to have people willing to share what they saw, but it seemed as if Yuuri had gotten lucky this time around. 

With everything packed properly, and the time to be at the airport drawing near, Yuuri gathered up his luggage and dragged it outside his room, shutting the door soundly behind himself. He'd been eager to arrive only a few days ago, and now was more that ready to leave. The feeling of regret that was sitting heavy with him was easily pushed away for another time, but Yuuri still wished that he'd done better. He _was_ capable enough, but his performance had fallen flat. 

A quick stop at reception to drop off his room key, and then Yuuri was outside, bundled up in a jacket and hat, sunglasses over his eyes as he looked for a cab. He was on time, but there couldn't be any delay if he didn't want to be late. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The airport was annoyingly crowded, just as most tended to be. After a large event like the GPF, there were many people leaving for their own homes, just as Yuuri was. He was a bit disappointed at losing the chance to sight see, but the comfort of his bed and friends in Detroit beckoned him, and so he really couldn't claim to be too saddened at all. 

Celestino had met him at the airport, and hadn't dropped the concerned expression he'd been wearing yet. He had asked about Yuuri's night after he left the banquet, but didn't receive much of an answer. There wasn't much of one to give.

They finally made it onto the plane without too many delays, and Yuuri was pleased to finally be allowed to sit and relax as they waited to take off. He had been given the window seat, with his coach occupying the one directly next to him. He took a deep, calming breath, and settled back into his chair, turning his head to stare outside. 

Thankfully, his coach didn't prod too deeply with any questions, but Yuuri could feel the man's stare. He did his best to not tense up though, and acted as if he didn't notice a thing at all. It was surprisingly difficult, and he was relieved when the plane moved to take off. The sooner they got off the ground and into the air, the sooner he could be back home.

As they steadily rose up with minimal turbulence, Yuuri leaned onto his side, determined to be comfortable, since he was to be confined to a single seat for hours. His eyes fluttered shut without much resistance, and his breathing evened into a slow pace. He wasn't sleeping yet, but was softly drifting. 

His eyes widened though, when suddenly he felt a burning sensation creep up the base of his skull towards his forehead. He winced, reaching up one hand to rub at it, and frowned when the pain steadily worsened. 

It was a sensation he recognized. The onslaught of intensity wasn't like that of any normal headache. His eyes squeezed shut, and he hunched even further into the ball his body had curled up to resemble. 

He was going to switch with Victor again, he could feel it. The pull was stronger, and much more noticeable than it had been the first time, when he hadn't even realized exactly what was going on. 

The process felt far longer than it should have, but maybe that was only because he was more aware of what was happening this time. He could better understand the pain of his mind slowly pulling away from his body, and the sensation was prolonged as he suffered through every moment.

It probably wasn't much help that he had just gotten relatively better from the hangover. 

He determinedly kept his eyes shut until the pain slowly fell away into a dull ache that rested at his forehead. The pain was softened by the fact that he no longer felt a hard seat against his side, but instead the softness of bed sheets and silky pajamas. Almost reluctant to open his eyes, Yuuri blinked softly, until everything began to come into focus.

It was strange, being able to lay down without glasses, and yet have perfect vision. Though this body was used to it, his own mind was not, and it was unusually jarring. Blinking some more in an attempt to rid himself of the feeling, Yuuri noticed what was laying on the bed next to his head.

A phone, unlocked and apparently in use, sat there, playing a video softly. He gingerly picked it up, as if touching Victor's things would somehow hurt him. It wouldn't, of course, but he felt an insistent need to be careful as curiosity overtook him.

Bringing the screen closer to see what the man had been watching, his eyes widened as he heard a familiar song playing from the small speaker. Almost gasping in surprise, he watched himself skate across the ice.

It was an old performance; he'd skated it about three years ago in local competitions. He hadn't gone very far with it though, and watching now, he could see how much he'd improved in the rather short period of time since then. 

Frowning slightly, Yuuri moved to sit up, dropping the phone onto his lap so that he could rest his head in his hands above it. As the small figure of himself moved to gentle music, he wondered over why Victor would have any interest in seeing his old routines. He obviously hadn't made a very good impression on the man, even after switching once, considering that he'd asked for a photo like Yuuri was just some _fan_.

Well, he was a fan, but that wasn't all he should be. He was a Grand Prix finalist, and Victor's soulmate. Why hadn't the man realized that before, and why was he watching these videos now? Had he been curious about his skills, after seeing how badly he'd performed? 

The thought filled him with a sudden dread, and Yuuri ran his hands over his face in an attempt to rid himself of it. 

He sighed, grabbing for the phone before even realizing what his hands were doing. It was generally considered rude to look through a soulmate's things while switched, but simply going to the history page to see if the man had watched any others couldn't be too bad. 

Despite the app being in a language he didn't know, Yuuri managed to navigate himself there, thanks to the layout remaining the same. To his surprise, it seemed as if Victor had watched almost every video of his previous skates that there was to find. He wasn't sure if he felt concerned or flattered, but a flush of red overtook his cheeks all the same. 

His skating must at least be appealing if the man had kept watching, right?

Running on that hope, he returned to the phone's homepage, and took only a small moment to smile at the background photo of Makkachin before finding the icon that looked like it represented notes. Victor had some written already, but Yuuri couldn't have read them if he wanted to, so he ignored them and simply created a new one. 

Thankfully, the man had an English keyboard - the language they shared - so he switched to that from the current Russian one, and set to typing. His intended message was longer than the first he'd left, so his thumbs worked fast to beat the mysterious time limit hanging over him. 

'Hello again, Victor,' he began, eyes moving fast over the words as he wrote them, sure to check that they were correct. 

'It looks like we've been lucky enough to switch another time.' Did he deserve the privilege of such a rare occurrence? 'It's a good thing I guess, since I'm on a plane right now flying back to America (Thanks for taking my place for some of that) and not able to speak properly with you. We saw one another at the GPF, but didn't do much talking then....'

He took a deep breath, pausing for a few seconds to gather his thoughts before continuing again. 

'It wasn't the meeting I wanted. I had planned on standing on the podium with you, not watching from 6th. I'd trained hard, even leaving home and going to America, just so I could have this opportunity. Finding out who my soulmate was only pushed me harder. But now I've just wasted all of that.'

'When we first switched, you said you wanted to see me skate. I'm sorry that the performance you got was such a disappointment after so much waiting.' His fingers stalled then, and his breath hitched as he attempted to think of a proper way to end the very somber note. It felt good to pour out his thoughts, although the idea of Victor actually reading them created a nervous flutter in his stomach. He needed the man to see though, and understand. 

'Anyway, hopefully the flight wasn't too bad, and good luck on your future competitions. I already know you'll do well, but I'll cheer you on like always.'

And then, with a sigh of finality, he wrote his name at the bottom, pleased that he had at least managed to finish that part this time around. He placed the phone back on the bed then, making sure to leave the note open so that the man would be sure to see it when they switched back. 

It was a waiting game now. Yuuri wasn't sure if Victor had any plans to get to or flights of his own to catch, so he was left to sit around in the hotel room without much else to occupy himself with. 

He busied his mind with studying the smooth skin of Victor's hands, but it turned out that he wouldn't have to wait for long. Switches tended to be quick, especially the rare subsequent occurrences, and this time proved to be no different. He felt as the ache at his forehead grew back into the now familiar intense stab of pain, and he curled up once again, prepared to face the onslaught as he slowly returned to his own body. 

The much harder surface of the plane seat was the first sensation to greet him as the pain dulled back, and Yuuri was quick to open his eyes this time. 

At first, nothing appeared out of the ordinary, and a disappointment settled heavy over his mind. Celestino didn't seem to have noticed a thing, far to absorbed by the book he was holding. Victor likely didn't try and talk to him anyway. 

The tray was pulled down in front of him, and he squinted, noticing a black marker laying on it. He frowned slightly, reaching forward and picking it up. It was as he moved his arm that he noticed his loose jacket sleeve had been pushed up. 

There, in the same place where it had been before, was the number he'd washed off in the shower earlier that morning. This time though, it came accompanied by a small note, and a familiar name.

'You really should call or text me. I want to talk to my soulmate,' was written in Victor's scrawl, and Yuuri smiled, despite himself. He realized that, somehow, he had talked to the man at the banquet. The fact that he couldn't remember was horrifying, but he ignored that for now.

Instead, he focused on digging into his pocket for his phone. The number was already saved, so he simply had to go and change the name. The warm feeling was back as he typed out a message, smiling happily, and thankful that Celestino wasn't looking his way. 

He could write hello, or something similar, but he'd technically done just that in the note he'd left, which Victor would surely read if he looked at his phone. He had no doubt that the man would either, considering he would likely be waiting for Yuuri to contact him.

Shaking his head lightly to himself, he typed out a nervous 'did you read your note?' before hitting send and immediately putting his phone away so that he wouldn't have to look at it anymore. 

It felt as though ages had passed before he got a response, and when he did he couldn't stop his hands from flying back to his phone, unlocking it eagerly. 

'Hello, Yuuri. I did,' the reply read, accompanied by a lighthearted smiling emoji. He didn't quite know what to feel in response to that. His note hadn't exactly been all that joyful, so the rather vague reply was slightly off-putting. 

Before he could think of a way to respond however, another message came it. 'Your skating is beautiful, and I'm excited to see it again sometime.'

The words made his heart warm, and before he could think too much about it, he wrote 'Soon, I hope,' in reply. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably edit this chapter tomorrow for any mistakes I've missed, but hopefully it makes sense like this cx  
> Please do let me know if you enjoyed it, though c:

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this, even a little bit! Please let me know what you thought c:  
> Any mistakes are my own because I couldn't catch them. This work isn't beta read. If you find any, feel free to let me know.  
> Follow me on tumblr [here](http://double00mogar.tumblr.com).


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